Hunter
by Sita Z
Summary: In a darker version of the Enterprise universe, Trip and Archer take a prisoner. Not Mirror Universe!
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Not making any money... and, sadly, the boys still do not belong to me.

AN: Big thanks to Gabi and T'eyla for their insightful comments and suggestions!

This story will be posted in two parts; the second part should be coming up in a day or two.

Warning: This fic does not take place in the Mirror Universe; however, it is **AU** (alternate universe). Archer isn't the nice dog-loving guy we're used to. I don't normally write Evil!Archer, but in this one he's mean. Beware.

Oh yeah – as always, feedback will be hugged and kissed!

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Part I

"What are you gonna do with him?"

Archer, sitting on a flat rock next to the campfire, stretched out his legs and crossed his feet.

"Well..." He paused. "I'm not planning on getting rid of him, you know."

Trip looked over at the dark silhouette who was sitting, head bowed, a few meters away on the grassy ground next to the small tree. When they had decided to stop here for the night, Archer had sought it out, testing its trunk for its sturdiness before he had made his prisoner sit down next to it. Then, he had tied one end of the rope around it, making sure the other end was still fastened tightly around the man's neck. He had tied the man's hands in front of him, lashed his ankles together with another rope, and had then left him to his own devices. The man had let it happen, although Trip had caught his quick, calculating glance when Archer had wrapped the rope around the tree. Of course; given enough time and an opportunity, the man might be able to free his feet and untie himself. If he thought that Archer was being careless, however, he was mistaken; the Captain and Trip would take turns standing guard all night. If the prisoner tried anything, one of them would notice immediately.

No, Archer had no intention of letting this one go, that was for sure. Trip could see it in his eyes, in the way they flickered over to where the man was sitting. There was lust in those eyes, lust and triumph; a hunter sizing up his prize.

Trip said nothing, remembering their strange encounter today that had resulted in this man becoming their prisoner. Archer's prisoner, to be exact. There was no doubt about the fact that the Captain regarded the man as his property, even now. And it was no surprise, given how they had found him...

* * *

Trip followed Archer down the narrow path, silently cursing the Captain's stubbornness. They had to get back, not run into the woods on a wild goose chase. Archer wanted to take a swim... well, he could do so when they were back on Enterprise. All Alliance ships were perfectly equipped when it came to luxurious amenities for their crews, including a sauna and two large, heated swimming pools.

When Trip had pointed this out to Archer, however, the Captain had only waved an impatient hand.

"It's not the swimming, Trip," he had said. "I want to be outside for a while, get a little fresh air. I've been cooped up inside for far too long."

And he had continued down to where he thought he had seen a glimmer of water through the bushes. As the ground under their boots turned muddier, Trip had to admit that Archer was probably right; judging by the vegetation and soft surface, they were approaching a pond or a small lake. Still... it wasn't as if they had time for this. Back on the ship, the other reconnaissance teams were waiting for them to arrive for the debriefing, and they might be getting just a little worried when the Captain didn't return on time...

"Trip!"

Archer's voice interrupted Trip's silent rant. For some reason, the Captain had spoken in a whisper, frozen on the path as if he had caught sight of a dangerous animal. When Archer touched his arm and pointed, however, Trip saw that it was not an animal that had caught the Captain's attention.

It was a man. He was naked, kneeling on a narrow strip of sand in front of the water, his back turned to them. He was washing his face and arms, scooping up some of the water in his cupped hands and bringing it up to his mouth. Trip could hear a soft slurping sound as the man drank a mouthful or two, then continued washing.

He took a moment to look at the man. He wasn't tall, his skin carrying only a light tan on his arms and neck. The rest of his body, back, buttocks and legs, were pale, although not in a sickly way; in this man, it looked sort of... elegant, as did his lean, muscular body. His hair was dark brown and curled into a little lock at the nape of his neck; otherwise, it was straight.

Trip knew at once who this man was, even though he had never seen him before. There were the simple, ragged-looking clothes the man had laid out next to him on the ground, the quiver filled with arrows and the bow; but most important of all, there was the feeling that this was not someone who had grown up in an Alliance colony. A descendant of those left behind on a depleted Earth during the Great Departure... a person who had not been genetically enhanced before birth, who had never seen a replicator or a transporter or any sort of technological equipment, who might not even know that there was a way to travel to the stars. Subhuman, Trip had often heard them called. An evolutionary remnant, not part of the new race mankind had made of themselves.

A man kneeling at the shore of a lake.

Archer moved his head, and Trip understood at once. Archer wanted him to go a few steps to the left so that they would be able to stalk the man from two sides. Trip could see Archer's intention in his eyes; he wanted to catch this man, and he wanted him alive. Why, Trip wasn't sure at the moment, but it wasn't as if he had any choice. Disobeying Archer was not an option.

Slowly, step by quiet step, they began to approach the man, who was now carefully washing his neck, scrubbing it until it turned a slight pink under his fingers. Trip noticed a thin white scar on the man's back, as if someone had slashed him with a knife.

_"They're primitive," _he remembered his eighth grade ethnology teacher saying._ "They live off the land, hunting and gathering. Many of them don't know how old they are, or even the name of the planet they live on."_

_"Like wild beasts," _Steve Cartwright had commented.

_"Yes," _the teacher had said, sounding a little sad._ "That's more or less what they are, I'm afraid."_

As he slowly approached the kneeling figure, Trip wondered if this man knew how old he was. He was only about six meters away from the lakeside when the man moved so suddenly that Trip barely saw it happen. Quick as lightning, his hand shot out and grabbed bow and quiver, then he pushed himself off the shore in a shallow dive, disappearing into the water without so much as a splash. The whole movement had been as fluent and secure as that of a big strong animal, rather than that of a man.

"Dammit!" Archer took several quick steps towards the lake, as if hoping to grab the man still in time. Trip almost laughed; there was no chance in hell Archer would have been there fast enough. The man had apparently heard them coming right from the beginning, and had only been waiting for the right moment to make his getaway.

"Where is he?" The Captain narrowed his eyes and surveyed the lake. The water was as still as if there had never been anyone there in the first place. "He's hiding somewhere."

"Cap'n..." Trip sighed. "Let's go, okay? He's gone, and I don't think we're gonna-"

"Shh!" Archer froze again, staring at a bed of reed growing about two meters away from the shore. "I think he's in there," he whispered. "I've seen something move."

"Jon," Trip used the Captain's first name, a rare privilege he had been granted when they had become friends several years ago. "I don't think this is such a good idea. We've gotta get back. Just... let's just go, okay? What would we want with him, anyway?"

It was the wrong thing to say, and Trip knew it the moment the words had left his mouth. Archer's eyes hardened. He said nothing, then, almost as quickly as the man had grabbed his bow, pulled out his phase pistol, raised it and fired a shot into the reed bed. A bird squealed and fluttered up in panic, and at the same time the man emerged from the water where he had been hiding. Quickly, he started to wade through the water that came up to his thighs, not running even though Trip could see that he would have liked to. If he had started running, he would have gotten no further than a couple of steps before falling down. What the man didn't know, of course, was that he didn't stand a chance no matter what he did.

"Stop!" Archer called, and when the man showed no sign of slowing down, fired again, this time missing only by inches.

As the red beam hit the water next to him, the man gasped. Then he whirled around, raising the bow with an arrow poised and ready. He cried something and fired, and it was more Archer's luck than anything else that he managed to duck just in time. The arrow whizzed over his head and hit a tree, where it stuck quivering. It had been aimed right at Archer's heart.

Archer stayed remarkably calm and simply raised his phase pistol again. This time, he hit his target. Without so much as a sound, the man crumpled into the water. His hand had let go off the bow, which floated on the surface next to his unconscious body.

Quickly, they pulled off their boots and took off their phase pistols and backpacks, then waded into the water and over to the place where the man had collapsed. His head had gone under the surface and when they grabbed his arms and pulled him up, a flood of water came out of his half-open mouth. Now that he saw his face for the first time, Trip noticed that the man was about his age, maybe a little younger. He had long, dark lashes, high cheekbones and very pink lips, although Trip wasn't sure if it was from the cold or if they always looked that way. A leather thong was tied around his neck, holding a dark, smooth pebble.

Together, he and Archer pulled the man ashore, leaving the bow and quiver in the water. Once they had reached the lakeside, they laid him down on the grass next to the sand. Trip glanced at Archer out of the corner of his eye and saw a strange gleam in the Captain's eyes as he eyed the unconscious man. As if they had just hunted down a particularly strong and fast deer, Trip thought, and suddenly felt disgusted.

"And now?" he asked, surprised by his own harsh tone. "We gonna wait here till he wakes up?"

Archer's eyes were still on the man. He shook his head. "No. Give me the backpack."

Once Trip had handed it to him, Archer opened it and pulled out the standard survival kit. Among other equipment, there was a knife and a ball of thin, strong rope inside. Archer cut off a piece which he used to tie the man's hands in front of him, then another one to tie his feet. When he was done, he packed the survival gear away again and began to pull on his boots.

Trip watched him, wanting to shake his head in disbelief. "What are you doin'?"

Archer said nothing. He strapped on his phase pistol, then nodded at his backpack. "I'll need you to carry that."

"Cap'n, what-"

He broke off when Archer bent down and grabbed the man under the armpits.

"Give me a hand here, will you?" Archer frowned when Trip only stared at him. "I can't lift him on my own, he's too heavy."

"Jon," Trip began again, struggling to sound calm. "Don't you think it might be a better idea if we just untied him again and left him here? I mean, what do you-"

"I gave you an order, Commander."

Archer's cutting tone left no room for argument. Silently, Trip helped Archer lift the man's limp body onto his shoulder. Archer staggered a little under his weight, but then he straightened and turned to look at Trip, eyes still alight with that strange expression.

"Let's go."

Trip glanced at the lakeside. "What about his clothes and things?"

Archer shook his head. "He won't need them anymore," he said. "Those rags of his are falling apart anyway, and as for his bow, well, I don't exactly want to wake up with an arrow in my chest."

He turned around and began to walk, striding swiftly despite his heavy burden so that Trip had to hurry to catch up. After putting on his boots and weapon belt, he picked up the two backpacks and quickly went after Archer, who was already halfway down the path from where they had come.

Archer held his captive with a possessive grip, his back and shoulders soaked from the water that was trickling down the man's body and dripping out of his dark, wet hair. Trip knew that Archer had not been quite truthful about the man's clothes; they had been worn, but not anywhere close to falling apart. There was probably another reason why Archer wanted to leave them behind, and it had a lot to do with the way his hands were exploring the pale wet skin they were touching. Again, Trip felt an unfamiliar revulsion for the man he had known for so long.

They had been walking for maybe half an hour when the man woke up. He gasped, flinched, and then began to retch – which wasn't surprising, given that Archer's shoulder was digging into his stomach. Archer quickly set him down and the man leaned forward, retching and heaving until a small stream of water and a few chunks of something unidentifiable came out of his mouth. After the vomiting had stopped, the man remained in this position for a moment, his still-damp hair falling across his forehead and hiding his eyes.

Finally, Archer broke the silence. "Feeling better?" he asked, not unfriendly.

The man straightened up again, and now Trip could see his face. Anger was warring with fear in his eyes, and fear was winning, although the man was doing his best to conceal it. In a soft, quiet voice, he began to speak, stringing words together that sounded vaguely familiar to Trip, but made no sense at the same time. Gray eyes locked first on Archer, then on Trip, and the man raised his bound hands, holding them out to them. His voice grew more urgent, and he turned his head, jabbing his chin at the way they had come.

"I think he's askin' us to let him go home," Trip said quietly. They had left the UT on board, but the desperation in the man's eyes needed no translation. "Cap'n..."

"He's not going anywhere," Archer interrupted him harshly. "But he can walk on his own, now that he's awake."

He opened the backpack again and took out the ball of rope again, this time cutting off a longer piece. He tied the end around the man's neck and fastened the knot tightly at the nape of the neck, just below that dark, curly lock. Trip was beginning to feel physically sick.

"Take a hold of his arms," Archer ordered him, and when Trip didn't move, barked, "Now, Commander!"

Trip did as he was told, holding on to the man's arms as Archer untied the rope around the slim wrists. He felt the man's muscles harden under his grip and held him tighter.

"Don't," he said quietly.

Archer seemed to have noticed the slight movement as well. He lifted the piece of rope right in front of the man's face and nodded at it, frowning.

"If you even think about kicking me when I untie your feet, you'll regret it."

As if to demonstrate, he made a striking movement, letting the rope whistle through the air. The man's eyes widened slightly. Archer nodded grimly to drive home his point, then knelt down to untie the rope around the man's ankles. The man held still, regarding Archer with barely concealed hate when the Captain straightened up again. If Archer had noticed at all, then he ignored it. He handed the piece of rope to Trip.

"Tie his hands behind his back. Make sure he can't reach the knots."

"Cap'n..." Trip was still holding on to the man's arms, and suddenly noticed that he had pulled him closer, almost as if to protect him from Archer. He deliberately loosened his grip. "Don't you think we should give him some clothes, at least? It'll get colder, and-"

"Okay okay." Archer held up his hands in defeat. "Give him your shirt. I think I've got a spare pair of boxers left in my backpack, he can have those." He grinned a little. "A shame, covering up such a nice ass."

The man had obviously noticed Archer's look and went crimson. This only caused Archer to laugh harder and Trip to turn away quickly, ostensibly in order to remove his black undershirt. He wasn't sure if he would have been able to hide his disgust this time well enough for Archer not to notice.

The man almost drowned in the boxers, and the shirt hung loosely off his small frame, but he seemed to feel decidedly better, now that he didn't have to parade about naked anymore. He stood quietly while Trip tied his hands behind his back and made no move to struggle. When Trip was done, the man unexpectedly turned his head and said a few soft words, his gray eyes searching Trip's face.

"I'm sorry," Trip said, trying for a friendly tone and expression. "I don't understand you, and I'm afraid you don't understand me."

"Understand a little," the man said in a heavily accented voice.

Trip stared at him. Archer had turned his head as well.

"You can understand us?" he asked.

The man ignored him, still looking at Trip. "Thanks - clothes," he said.

Trip nodded carefully. "You're welcome."

"Hey," Archer said, "those boxers are mine, not his. You should thank me." He tried to sound playful, but failed miserably, sounding irritated and annoyed instead. The man turned to look at him.

"My home," he said slowly, frowning as he struggled with the unfamiliar language. "By water. My – my people. Please-," His voice cracked a little. "Please, I go. Please."

Archer looked at him and Trip saw a strange expression play across his face. For a moment, he believed Archer would nod, free the man of his bonds and let him go. Then, however, the Captain's face hardened again.

He ignored the man, who had now switched to his mother tongue and was rapidly pouring out the words, reached into the collar of the black shirt and pulled out the end of the rope he had tied around the man's neck. He took it firmly into his hand, then gave the man a slight push in the back.

"Come on, move it. And you can stop the jabbering, we don't understand you anyway."

The man seemed to have understood the gist of the words, if not their exact meaning. After another, desperate-sounding utterance he became silent and, prodded by another push from Archer, slowly began walking. He lowered his head, but not before Trip had seen tears in the gray eyes.

At that moment, Trip wished more than anything else that he and Archer had never walked down the path to the lake in the first place.

Part II coming up soon... please let me know what you think!


	2. Chapter 2

AN: Thank you very much for your kind reviews!

Pennyforum: Sorry it took me a while – here's Part II, as promised!

Firebirdgirl: Let me know if he was who you thought he was ;)!

The Libran Iniquity: Hope you like the second part as well, although I'm not sure if Archer and Trip... no, I'm not spoiling you here :). BTW, good to see you back at the Enterprise site!... -TLI knows what's coming next, considers running away-... when do we get a new story :)?

Jgc: Even more disgusting in the second part, I guess... thanks for reading and reviewing!

Now on to Part II!

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Part II

"So, what are you gonna do with him?" Trip repeated.

Archer leaned forward and picked up one of the canned ration soups they had heated in the fire. He brought it to his lips and took a sip, grimacing slightly at the taste.

"Well," he said, "I've been thinking about getting a personal servant from the work camps, anyway. If I can catch myself one and save the money, so much the better."

He grinned at his own wit. Trip didn't smile back at him.

"He doesn't even speak our language, Jon."

Archer shrugged. "He'll learn it soon enough. Besides, he understands some of it."

Trip thought by himself that the man probably understood more than he let on. Aloud he said: "You heard him, Cap'n. He lives here. His people are here. He-"

Suddenly, Archer seemed angry. "He'll forget about them. He's not really human, Trip, you can't judge him by our standards. He may have feelings, but-" He broke off, avoiding Trip's eyes and staring into the fire. "He's not like us," he said then, quietly.

_No, he's not_, Trip thought and looked over at the man who was sitting perfectly still, a dark outline against the night sky, giving no indication as to whether he was listening to, or understanding their conversation.

"Jon," Trip began again, "he's not used to livin' like we do. This – " He gestured at their surroundings, the forest and the dark sky. "-is what he knows. I think- I think if you take him back to the ship or the colonies, it'll kill him."

Archer waved an impatient hand. "Oh come on, Trip. I'll admit it may be hard on him at first, but it won't kill him. Besides-" He glanced around, one corner of his mouth going down. "What sort of life is this? Digging in the dirt, eating slugs and insects? Once he's gotten used to it, he'll understand that he's a lot better off with us."

Trip said nothing, for there was nothing to say to this. Archer knew that he was only spouting phrases. What it really came down to – and they both knew it - was the strange expression Trip had seen in the Captain's eyes, the fascination this prisoner seemed to hold for him. _I'm not letting him go_, Archer's eyes said. _He's mine_. And to hell with all the things Jonathan Archer may still, in a way, have believed in.

It was what made Archer such a good captain; that he had a mind of his own, refusing to bend to Alliance policies when they clashed with his personal beliefs. It was why Trip had always admired him. Now, however... Archer was acting within his rights, of course. Earth belonged to mankind, and so did the people living on her. The Alliance had taken legal guardianship for every one of them, creating an entire colony of work camps for the sole purpose of educating the primitives and reintegrating them into human society. "Taking responsibility", as the Alliance president had called it. They had rounded up and deported entire shiploads of them, locked them behind bars and wire fences and put them to work.

Most of them had died within the first six months.

Trip stared into the flames. Maybe this man would survive; he seemed strong and capable, with a will to live that would not easily be broken. But he would not forget. Trip was sure about that. The man would be hurting his entire life for something that had been taken away from him irrevocably.

Not looking at Archer, Trip got up and picked up one of the soup cans that were sitting next to the fire. He opened his backpack and got out a blanket, then went over to where their prisoner was sitting. The man raised his head and looked at him with expressionless eyes.

Trip crouched down so that they were at eye level and held out the soup to him. "Are you hungry?"

The man looked at the soup, then slowly reached out and took it, holding the can awkwardly between his tied hands. He did not take a sip, or even look at the food.

Trip laid the blanket on the ground next to the man. "Here."

"Not cold," the man said, and Trip could see that he was trying to gather what was left of his pride.

"It's for later," he replied quietly. "The nights here can get quite chilly."

He immediately felt stupid; the man knew, of course, how cold the nights could get. The prisoner gave no indication that he had heard or understood what Trip had said. He brought the soup to his lips but did not drink any of it, holding the can as if to warm his face. He did not look at Trip.

Feeling awkward, Trip got back to his feet and for a moment stood in front of the man, who continued ignoring him.

"Well, then..." He cleared his throat. "Let me know if you need anythin', okay?"

The man stared into the darkness that surrounded them, lost in a world of his own. Trip wasn't even sure whether he had heard him.

Sighing, he turned around and went back to the campfire, where Archer had just finished his soup. He looked up when Trip came back, watching him over the rim of the can.

"Feeling better now?"

Trip only shrugged and began to dig through the backpack for another blanket. He suddenly felt very tired. Archer dropped the soup can on the ground and poked a stick into the fire, causing a few sparks to fly up.

"You go ahead and get some sleep," he said. "I'll take the first shift."

Usually, Trip would have asked if Archer was sure, but today he couldn't bring himself to care. After he had found a place next to the fire that looked remotely comfortable, he settled down and wrapped his blanket around himself, using one of the backpacks as a pillow. The ground was beginning to cool down, and it was only the fire that kept him more or less warm. He thought of the prisoner who was tethered to the tree several meters away from the warming flames. The man would be cold tonight, especially if he refused to use the blanket. However, Archer would never agree to untie him so he could move closer to the fire, and Trip didn't even bother to ask.

Although he was tired, it took a while until he found himself beginning to get drowsy. His thoughts kept returning to the strange man back there in the dark, replaying the scenes that had led to his capture.

He must have dozed off at some point, for when he woke up from the sound of Archer getting to his feet, he had no idea how much time had passed. Trip lay still, listening and hoping against hope that Archer would go take a leak, or maybe wander around a little to get the circulation back into his legs. Then, however, he heard Archer beginning to walk over to the prisoner, and closed his eyes. Somewhere in his mind, he had known all along that this would happen, and now he only wished that he were somewhere, anywhere else so he wouldn't have to listen to it.

He heard Archer's voice, too quiet for Trip to understand what he was saying. The man answered, an undertone of fear and anger in his voice. Trip guessed that he was not the only one who had seen this coming.

Archer spoke again, a little louder this time. The man said nothing in reply this time, and Trip could hear Archer's voice drifting over to him: "... better be careful."

Again, there was no answer. A moment of silence followed, then there was the sound of someone struggling with growing panic, and Archer's angry voice: "Stop that, goddammit!"

The man cried something in his mother tongue, then: "No! No!"

Trip squeezed his eyes shut, feeling something hot burn on the inside of his lids. _If I weren't such a goddamn coward..._

The man uttered several more, panicky-sounding words, and suddenly Archer let out a surprised cry of pain.

"Why you little-"

The sound of several loud smacks followed, accompanied by gasps of pain and fear, and it was maybe the latter that finally broke through Trip's numbness. Throwing his blanket aside, he jumped to his feet and peered into the darkness.

At the sight, his throat grew hot and tight with anger. Archer had the smaller man pinned to the ground, and had obviously succeeded in pulling down the too-large boxer shorts, but the man was still fighting back with all his strength, squirming and kicking as well as he could with his legs tied together. Archer raised his hand and hit him again.

"Stop it!"

"Jon!"

Archer raised his head. Trip startled at the expression of anger and pure lust on his face; he had never seen Jon like this before.

"Keep out of this, Trip. It's none of your business."

"I think it is," Trip said. "I think you should leave him alone."

"I don't give a shit what you think," Archer snapped, hands still gripping the prone man's arm and hip. "I said stay out of this. He's mine, I can do with him whatever I want."

Trip could not believe that he had ever called this man his best friend. "You're crazy," he said, taking a step towards Archer. "Leave him alone. Now."

"Who are you to give me orders?" Archer began to get to his feet. His face was ugly and dark with anger. "One more word-"

It happened in a matter of seconds. Trip found himself grabbing his weapon belt, and then he was standing again, pointing his phase pistol at Archer.

"I said leave him alone."

For a moment, Archer seemed too dumbfounded to speak. Then he opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, the man's bound feet suddenly shot forward and impacted with the back of his knees. Archer stumbled, lost his balance and fell, sitting down hard in a rather undignified position on the ground. He cried out in pain and rage, then made as if to get back up, narrowing his eyes at the man on the ground.

"You-"

"Stay where you are, Jon," Trip said. "Or I swear to God, I'll shoot you. This has gone far enough."

"Are you out of your mind, Trip?" Archer turned around. "You're about one word away from a court-martial!"

"I mean it, Jon. Back off."

"I'll be damned if I-"

Archer never finished his sentence. Trip's finger tightened on the trigger and a second later the Captain collapsed on the ground, unconscious.

The silence that followed came down heavily on Trip. He stood there, the weapon loosely in his hand, not quite able to believe what he had done. With one single shot, he had destroyed his life as he had known it so far.

Finally, the man on the ground stirred, and Trip found that he was able to move again. On shaky legs, he went over to where the man was lying on the ground, knelt down and began to untie the rope around his wrists. Once the man's hands were free, Trip moved on to his ankles, freeing them as well. The man lay still and let it happen, not moving even as both his hands and feet had been liberated from the restraints.

Trip raised his head and found wide, gray eyes watching him. Almost absentmindedly, he noticed the thin trickle of blood on the man's upper lip, as well as the rapidly swelling bruise on his cheek.

"You okay?" he asked.

The man was silent. Then he sat up and pulled the boxers back up to his waist, tugging at the drawstrings until the large piece of clothing more or less stayed in place. There was something very down-to-earth about this gesture, and Trip suddenly wanted to pull the smaller man into a tight hug. He didn't, of course; he would have likely ended up next to Archer on the ground if he had tried anything like that. From the swift and powerful way this man moved, Trip had a feeling that he could be very dangerous if he wanted to. His little demonstration of marksmanship back at the lake had proved that.

The man's hands had gone to the back of his neck, and were now fumbling with the knot Archer had tied there.

"Here," Trip moved a little closer, "let me give you a hand."

The man lowered his hands and sat still until Trip had freed him of the rope. There were a few small abrasions where it had rubbed against his skin, and the man carefully touched them, as if to make sure they were superficial.

"You okay?" Trip asked again, and, thinking that the man might not know the word, added, "He didn't... hurt you, did he?"

"No," the man said quietly. "Okay. Thanks."

Trip searched his face and finally decided that the man was telling the truth. "Good," he said. "Listen, it might be a good idea for you to leave now, before he wakes up. Leave, y'know," he repeated when it was obvious that the man had not understood him. "Go. To your home. Your people."

The man didn't move. In the light of the fire, his gray eyes were almost black.

"Look," Trip continued, beginning to feel a little desperate. "You can't stay. Him, Archer, he'll want to keep you here. He'll tie you up again."

He held up the ropes and pointed first at Archer, then at the man, who followed Trip's finger with his eyes. If he understood what Trip was telling him, then he didn't seem to be particularly worried by the idea.

Calmly, he began to remove something else from his neck, and a moment later Trip recognized the leather thong and pebble that had first caught his attention back at the lake. The man carefully rolled it up and then reached for Trip's hand, gently placing the thong and stone inside and closing Trip's fingers around them. The pebble felt warm against Trip's skin.

The man seemed to have noticed his enquiring look. "You take," he said, as a way of explanation. "Mine, now your. For friends."

Trip understood, and slowly shook his head. "I- I can't take it," he said.

The man's face took on an expression of confusion and slight hurt. "You take it," he repeated, more emphatically than before.

"Look..." Trip struggled for words. "We – I mean, Jon and I – we did this to you. I should've done somethin' earlier..."

He trailed off when the man held up a hand. "No," he said. "Is okay. Trip."

For the first time, a smile touched his lips, making his face look soft and gentle. Trip automatically smiled back and suddenly realized that he didn't even know what the man was called.

"What's your name?" he asked.

The man smiled again. "Mal," he said then. "Is- is word in my..." He frowned, obviously unable to come up with the Standard vocable.

"In your language?" Trip guessed. "The name has a meaning in your language?"

The man nodded. "Yes," he said. "Someone who... who find food." Obviously dissatisfied with his description, he mimed someone shooting an arrow from a bow.

"A hunter?" Trip asked, and was rewarded with another smile.

"Yes. Best hunter."

Remembering how Mal had almost skewered Enterprise's Captain with his arrow, Trip had no doubt that this was no exaggeration. Thinking of Archer returned his mind to the present, and he laid a hand on Mal's arm.

"Listen, Mal, you really need to go now. You can't be here when he wakes up."

Again, Mal made no move to get up. "You?" he asked, his face suddenly very serious.

_Me?_ Trip almost flinched. Most likely, he would be thrown out of the fleet and banned from ever entering an Alliance ship or colony again, which meant that Mal was probably the last human he had ever spoken to. _Oh sorry Jon, but he isn't human, right?_

The Alliance took loyalty to the death very seriously, and he had betrayed his captain in the worst possible way. From now on, Charles Tucker would no longer exist, his name would be deleted from every database, and, since he had no family left back in the colonies, would soon be forgotten altogether.

Trip was surprised that he only felt a dull, indeterminate fear at the idea.

"I'll be okay," he told Mal, and forced himself to smile. "Now go. Scram."

Mal only looked at him. "Trip."

Trip shook his head. He had no time for this – or rather, _Mal_ had no time for this. "You really need to leave now," he said. "I'll be okay, I promise."

"No promise." Mal shook his head and crossed his arms in front of his chest. Trip found himself getting irritated with the man's stubbornness. "Not okay. He-" He glanced at Archer, obviously lacking the words for what he wanted to say. "Not okay," he repeated then.

Trip sighed. "Mal. Just go. Please?"

"No." Mal gave him a long look. "You - want to come?"

It took Trip a moment before he understood. "You mean, come with you?"

Mal nodded. "Yes. Not stay here. Come to my home. Is- is safe."

Trip shook his head. "Mal, I can't. Your people... they wouldn't like me. And..." He smiled in a forced attempt at levity. "I can't hunt to save my life."

To his surprise, Mal smiled back at him. "I can show you hunt. And my people... they like you. I like you."

Trip stared at him. Mal made it sound so simple, and maybe, that was just what it was. It wasn't as if he had many other options left and besides... if he was being honest, there wasn't much that kept him back on Enterprise. Or with the so-called new humans, by the way.

"You'd really take me in?"

Mal smiled. "Really. Now go?"

"Wait a moment." Trip knelt down next to the still unconscious Archer and picked up one of the ropes. "I'd better take care of this first."

Three minutes later, Archer was securely bound on hands and feet. Trip rummaged through one of the backpacks and found a communicator, which he tucked into Archer's right hand.

Noticing Mal's questioning look, he explained, "That way he can call the ship when he wakes up so they can send help, but he can't follow us." He grinned. "Maybe it'll be good for him to get a little taste of his own medicine."

He nodded at the restraints, and Mal, who had understood the meaning if not the expression, answered his grin.

"Okay. Now leave. Trip?"

"Yeah, let's go." Trip got back to his feet. Before they left the campsite, however, he picked up one of the phase pistols, holding it loosely in his hand. At Mal's curious look, he said: "This might come in handy, just in case we meet someone we don't really like the look of. If you're interested, I can show you how to use it later."

Mal looked as if he would be very interested indeed. Then his face suddenly grew cloudy again. "Your people," he said. "They come look for you?"

"No," Trip said, and suddenly, even the dull fear of before was gone. "No, they won't. They – they want to forget me."

Mal nodded and said nothing, although he briefly rested a hand on Trip's arm before he let go again. "Come. Now we go home."

"Sounds like a plan."

Trip smiled as he followed Mal, the best hunter, into the woods.

* * *

The chattering of the people outside was dying down, and the fires were extinguished one by one as everybody retreated into their dwellings.

Trip lay on the soft, woven cloth of Mal's bedstead, listening to the other man's even breathing and marveling at the fact that he was here at all. Mal's "home" was the most amazing thing he had ever seen; a settlement of artfully crafted tree-houses hidden away high up in a dozen gigantic oak trees in the middle of the forest. Trip hadn't even known that such trees existed on Earth; they certainly hadn't before most of mankind had left the planet during the Great Departure. Well, maybe the absence of humans had allowed other species to flourish. The abundance of plants and animals he had seen on their way here certainly substantiated the idea.

The settlement was accessible only through a rope ladder, carefully hidden so that Trip would not have found it on his own even if someone had pointed it out to him. When he had first climbed over the edge of the wooden platform after Mal, he had found himself looking into several dozen faces whose expressions ranged from curious to shocked. At first, the tree settlers had been somewhat suspicious of the stranger, even as the well-respected best hunter assured them that Trip posed no threat. They had heard too many tales of abduction and violence to trust somebody who had – almost literally – dropped into their home. Then, however, an old lady had stepped forward. To Trip's surprise, her Standard was quite fluent, and she had questioned him, in a friendly but grave manner, whether he could confirm the best hunter's story. When Trip had answered in the affirmative, she had considered for a moment, then nodded.

"Then you are welcome, Trip," she had said, and apparently it had been some sort of signal for her fellow settlers, for after that no one had given him so much as a sceptical look. He had been invited to sit at every fire, and every once in a while someone had come by to give him a welcome gift – blankets, pottery, even a bow and a quiver full of arrows. At first, he had been embarrassed to accept all of the things that were given to him so freely, but Mal pointed out to him that he would offend the people if he refused their gifts.

"See?" he had said, and had smiled again. "They like you. Trip."

Trip smiled and turned over, pulling the blanket up to his shoulders. Then he opened his hand again, looking at the small leather band and the smooth, shiny pebble that rested on his palm.

_For friends_, Mal had said. Trip smiled. That, too, sounded like a very good idea.

The End

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